


seventh chakra

by moon_jelly



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Child Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Kinda Sorta Canon Compliant, M/M, Sibling Fluff, but warnings:, depictions of the Regent's abuse, except not really, i can't say too much here because spoilers, vaguely horror inspired, very minor death and all that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22236709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_jelly/pseuds/moon_jelly
Summary: Auguste wakes up.Or rather, it isn't so much that he wakes up - he opens his eyes and simply is, in a way that he wasn't moments before. He is perfectly aware of the air around him, of the bloodstain beneath his body that is slowly sinking into the earth. He stares up at the sky and sees only vaguely familiar stars, known to him only because of his younger brother’s attempts to cheer him up by taking him stargazing throughout the long campaign.He wonders where Laurent is. Wasn't he here just moments ago, watching from the sidelines of his battle with Damianos of Akielos?---Auguste dies, then wakes up as a ghost, only able to haunt Laurent.((based on ksanne's artwork!))
Relationships: Auguste & Laurent (Captive Prince), background Laurent/Damen
Comments: 28
Kudos: 133
Collections: Captive Prince Reverse Bang 2019





	seventh chakra

**Author's Note:**

> this wouldn't have been possible without ksanne's incredible artwork - thank you for being so patient with me! you rock. 
> 
> for an enhanced reading experience, please listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCbx0Iz8j8c) while you read the part titled "In the End" !

THE BEGINNING

Auguste wakes up. 

Or rather, it isn't so much that he wakes up - he opens his eyes and simply  _ is _ , in a way that he wasn't moments before. He is perfectly aware of the air around him, of the bloodstain beneath his body that is slowly sinking into the earth. He stares up at the sky and sees only vaguely familiar stars, known to him only because of his younger brother’s attempts to cheer him up by taking him stargazing throughout the long campaign. 

He wonders where Laurent is. Wasn't he here just moments ago, watching from the sidelines of his battle with Damianos of Akielos? 

Auguste sits up. His mind feels fuzzy, and there is a strange ringing in his ears, one that he can't quite place. He doesn't remember being hit on the head at any point - even if the last thing he remembers is Damianos charging at him - and though it would explain why he was unconscious on the ground, it doesn't explain why there is no one else there. Why he is alone. 

He stands up, absently noting that he has no sword, and sets off towards the last place he remembers the Veretian camp being. Hopefully there, he'll be able to find some answers. 

—-

It takes Auguste most of the night to travel there. The camp is where he remembers it being, though it was much worse traveling there on foot rather than horseback, and he makes his way inside without much trouble. The guards on watch are fast asleep, and he makes a mental note to punish them for that in the morning. He walks over to the main tent, the one he shares with his father and brother, without running into anyone on the way. It's odd, he thinks. He's never seen the camp this dead, even this late at night. Something must be happening. 

Auguste walks into the tent. The first thing he sees is Laurent, kneeling on the floor beside two of the bed. He fights the urge to frown; it's entirely too late for his brother to be awake and out of bed. He steps closer and sees that Laurent is sobbing silently, tears gushing out of his eyes and his breathing speeding up as he sits there. 

Auguste has never seen his brother cry this hard, not even when their mother died. 

He kneels beside Laurent, asking, “What happened, Laurent? What's making you cry like this?” and reaches out a hand to grab his shoulder, when it halts in midair. He sees that Laurent is clutching a hand like a lifeline, holding it to his chest like the stuffed toys he used to love when he was younger. 

Auguste looks up, trying to figure out whose hand it is, when he sees a body he knows all too well lying on the bed, partially shrouded. It's his own, exactly as he saw it in the mirror that morning, except for the ugly stab wound he could see on his torso. He looks over to the other body on the bed and sees that it's his father, dead from what looks like an arrow wound. 

As Laurent starts to wail out loud for what can't be the first time that night, Auguste  _ screams _ . 

\----------

YEAR 1

Auguste spends much of the first year in a haze. 

Somehow, he isn’t quite surprised to find that it takes quite a bit of energy to be aware of his surroundings - an amount of energy that he had thoughtlessly used when he was alive. He is more startled to find that when he isn’t focused, his senses - what little he has left - will fade in and out, as though he could slip into unconsciousness at any second. Auguste isn’t quite sure how fading away works for ghosts, but the thought that it could happen so easily, as quickly and easily as falling asleep, is one that scares him beyond all reason. 

There are no other ghosts in the castle, as far as he can tell. Perhaps there were more in the past, or perhaps there were never others like him. Well, there’s no one he can ask, anyway. It makes him wonder, what happened to his parents? Did his mother ever watch over him? What about his brother? 

Is there somewhere that he will go once all of his energy finally vacates his body, or is he doomed to vanish into the void? 

Well. That doesn’t matter right now - he needs to stay by Laurent for as long as he possibly can, watching over him. Auguste doesn’t even know if he can only watch, or if he can interfere at all. How does it even work, being a ghost? He can’t recall if he ever heard any proper stories about ghosts, only about people being terrorized by them, and Auguste has no plans to terrorize anyone…  _ yet _ . 

In any case, all he can do at the moment is follow Laurent around, floating after him like some sort of overly-attached spectral puppy. It seems that he is invisible and inaudible to everyone, including his brother, but most of the time, he can’t muster up the energy to even make himself any sort of human-like form. 

Floating around as nothing more than a consciousness has its perks, anyway. Auguste can reflect on…  _ anything _ , really, that he might ever need to. His life, now that he can sit back and look upon it from a more outside perspective, was a rather repetitive one - adventure was never in his schedule, and even if it had been, his duties as crown prince had consumed his life anyway. The only thing he could say actually had some variation in his life was when he would spend time with Laurent; everything else was a cycle of duties, training, and eventually, going to war. 

It was interesting, sometimes, and Auguste did genuinely love serving Vere, but just sometimes, he would look at the common people of the kingdom and wonder. 

Well. That was neither here nor there, now, and there was no use in thinking about it. 

Perhaps it  _ wasn’t  _ a good thing, to have so much time to reflect.

Auguste shakes himself out of his reverie once again. He’s been following Laurent around with too little to do for far too long, he thinks, not really seeing what’s happening or processing much of anything, really. As interesting as their escapades used to be, Laurent isn’t doing much other than burying himself in his books now - there’s no work for him, as young as he is, and their uncle cannot entertain him all the time while simultaneously running a country. 

It’s his own fault, Auguste thinks. If he hadn’t been stupid enough to give Damianos another chance during their battle, he might still be alive right now. Their father would be alive. Laurent wouldn’t be so alone. 

There’s nothing he can do about it now, but it still stings. 

His energy hasn’t grown much through the months, he notes. Did all ghosts have the same struggles? Was there any way he could at least gain enough energy to allow himself to manifest fully? 

Why was there no one else around like him? 

—

At some point during the year, Auguste stops following Laurent. 

It isn’t so much a conscious decision as much as he suddenly loses energy, in the middle of the hallway while Laurent is on his way to the training field. It’s almost strange, the way his brother has suddenly gained a passion for the sword, but Auguste isn’t going to complain. The more he can protect himself, the better. 

He isn’t exactly sure why he loses energy. Maybe his quasi-haunting of Laurent had expended more than he thought, and he was crashing from overuse now. Maybe he was ready to move on - but  _ no _ , that didn’t quite seem right. Maybe - 

Maybe - 

Auguste slumps down, as much as a ball of consciousness can, to the floor and  _ sleeps _ . 

\------------

YEAR 2 

Auguste wakes in mid-June. This time, he jolts awake, just as he used to when one of his men would wake him after battle during the conflict with Akielos. He has to fight the urge to immediately draw his sword, because even though he’s been asleep for so long, he’s still perfectly aware of the fact that he is dead. 

Dead, huh. 

Finally, two years on, a wave of grief washes over him. How could things have ended up like this? How could he have been so utterly  _ stupid _ , to have left his brother so alone? 

Auguste doesn’t have a physical form, but if he did, he would be kneeling, clutching a hand to his heart, almost completely bent over in the sheer anguish that is pouring over him. 

He didn’t want to die. He had wanted to live a long life, to lead his country into a new age of prosperity, to improve the lives of both his people and his family.  _ Was it even worth it?  _ He thinks.  _ Fighting over such a small piece of land… why did we all think it mattered so much? Tradition?  _

_ How could tradition matter when so many are dead?  _

All of a sudden, Auguste feels like the biggest monster of all. How could he even begin to think about his own grief when all of the people he - and his comrades - had left behind have it so much worse? 

Grief as a ghost is truly the strangest emotion of them all. Auguste isn’t sure if it’s natural to be feeling this way, like his entire world has ended within the last day, or if there’s something in the air. It’s getting close to his death date, as far as he can tell, and the palace is oddly quiet. 

Auguste gets up, as much as he can, and goes to find Laurent. 

———

It’s night when he finally finds where they are - Laurent and his uncle. They’re in his uncle’s rooms, it seems, and the guards that are supposed to be right outside the door are further down the hallway. Rather suspicious, Auguste thinks. If it had been him, he would have whipped them into shape long ago. 

Auguste mentally shrugs. It’s not his problem anymore, after all, and even beyond that, his priority was Laurent, not their uncle. 

He floats through the door, not exactly sure what he’s about to see. He isn’t expecting anything much, though - perhaps just the two of them, their uncle comforting Laurent once again as he had been doing for the last year, or so the gossipy guards that Auguste had overheard had said. It was good, he thought, that Laurent had their uncle, if no one else. If he had been left completely alone, Auguste wasn’t sure that his brother would have survived in the court - surely there were still plenty of people practically drooling for the throne. Yes, it was best that their uncle was the regent for now, with the amount of experience that he had in running a country. 

The next thing he sees, Auguste can only remember in bits and pieces. 

Laurent, kneeling on the floor in front of Uncle, completely naked, his eyes unfocused and staring at the wall. Uncle, on top of him, one hand on Laurent’s shoulder and the other on his head, bring it down. 

Auguste knows enough of the pets in Arles to figure out exactly what is going on in less than a second. 

A rage, deep and powerful, fills him from his core to the tips of his fingers. His mind is floating somewhere far away, and distantly, he notices that his arms and legs are quaking. It doesn’t quite register that this is the first time that he’s had the sensation of  _ limbs  _ since he died. 

He is burning. 

Auguste takes one step, then another. Suddenly he finds himself rushing forwards, reaching out to pull the two of them apart. From somewhere behind him, he hears a mirror shatter, and the wind picks up, never mind the fact that they are inside. It swirls around him, making his incorporeal hair lift up from where it usually rests on his shoulders. Something casts a faint red glow over the room; it takes Auguste a moment to figure out that the source of the glow is his eyes. 

Finally, Auguste reaches his uncle and brother. With one hand on his uncle’s shoulder, he yanks him backwards, sending him flying to the floor, then moves so that he’s crowding Laurent away from the rest of the room, towards the open window. Laurent’s eyes are wide, and he focuses in on what’s right in front of him. 

“Brother?” 

Auguste opens his mouth to answer, but stops short as someone tosses what seems to be salt through him. His essence scatters, and he loses his grip on his surroundings. His vision fades, and as he floats there, just a consciousness once more, he sees his uncle get up from the floor, quickly come over and dress Laurent, and then they both walk out the door, his uncle glancing back at his room once more, a suspicious look on his face. 

Auguste reforms as quickly as he can. His uncle is going to  _ pay _ . 

———

The Regent walks back into his room slowly, one guard ahead of him and the other behind. He’s just returning from dropping Laurent off back in his room, with a promise to stay there until morning when everything about the strange intruder can be sorted out. The Regent isn’t sure what to expect - on one hand, he’s never believed in ghosts, but on the other, the face he saw was certainly that of Auguste. Except for the fact that Auguste was dead - the Regent had made sure of that himself. It was simply pure luck earlier, that he had salt with him and that he had remembered the old legend of how to dispel ghosts. 

The guard in front of him walks into his chambers and stops short, a gasp escaping him. The Regent pauses for a moment, then follows the guard in, his heart pounding in his chest, about to leap out at any second. For a moment, he looks across his room, at the shattered window and the curtains swaying gently in the breeze. 

And then he looks about the rest of the room, and his heart freezes in his chest. 

The Regent’s room has been absolutely trashed. His bedsheets are lying on the ground, torn to shreds, tiny pieces of fabric scattered around. Something has ripped a large hole in his mattress, and feathers are still floating through the air. 

Whatever was here, it was here recently. 

Around the room, the rest of his furniture has been smashed. All of the papers on his desk are gone - probably tossed out the window somewhere. It isn’t so bad, he thinks - all of this can be replaced. The vision of his dead nephew was just that - a vision - caused by, most likely, some sort of hallucinogenic drug in his drink, slipped in by insurgents, or Akielon spies, or something along those lines. 

The Regent turns and glances at the one part of the room he hasn’t looked at yet - his mirror. When he looks, the first time, he thinks that he’s still hallucinating; and then he blinks, and the message written in what looks like blood is still there. 

**_Don’t touch my brother._ **

The Regent blinks once more, then slowly sits down among the glass shards and rubble. Message received, he thinks - and just as well. Laurent was getting a bit old for his tastes, anyway. 

————

Alone in his room, Laurent asks the air, “Auguste?” 

He does not dare hope for a response. 

————— 

YEAR 3 

Auguste does not manage to reform even the tiniest shred of his consciousness for another ten months. 

He claws his way through the void, trying to find each missing piece of himself. After destroying the Regent’s room in his best attempt to get him out of Laurent’s life, he had essentially dissolved, not even able to ensure that the Regent was staying away from Laurent. Being thrown into the void had not been his intention, but he had to hope that it had been worth it. 

Mentally, he shrugs. No use in thinking about that until he can get his ‘body’ back and go see how Laurent is doing himself. 

Auguste inches towards another shred of himself absorbs it back into himself, feeling marginally more settled than he had a moment before. Being torn apart was indescribable - it left him a roiling mass of instability, with no way to fix himself other than to absorb his own bits and pieces like the world’s oddest cannibal. 

And there it is - the last piece to swallow. 

He engulfs it, and fully comes back to himself. Now that he’s a bit more practiced at taking a more human shape, it’s easier for Auguste to form a body - still invisible, but a body nonetheless. He blinks once, finally able to see once more, and stretches, enjoying the sensation of phantom fingers and toes in the cool air around him. Standing from where he’s apparently been laying on the ground, he glances around to see where he is. 

It’s immediately recognizable. He’s in the Regent’s room. 

Thankfully, the man in question does not seem to be there in the moment. It’s midday, and the castle surrounding him is quiet. 

Oddly silent, almost. 

Auguste wanders out of the room, glancing absently at the empty hallways and vacant rooms. It’s a little unnerving - the castle is never this quiet, with nobles and pets scattered around, servants doing their duties, and general revelry throughout. 

The cause of the silence is revealed when he happens upon a few maids hurrying towards the windows on one side of the castle. He follows them with vague curiosity, until he reaches a window of his own where he can peek out at the training fields. 

Before him is Laurent - he takes a moment to thank whatever gods that may exist that he seems to be okay - holding a sword, clearly in the middle of a sparring match. He’s covered in sweat, and panting heavily, but he’s up against three men and he’s still standing. 

Auguste has never been more proud. 

Laurent was always the more bookish of the two of them. That wasn’t to say that Auguste himself didn’t enjoy literary pursuits, or that Laurent detested anything related to combat. The two of them simply had their own strengths, which wasn’t anything particularly  _ bad _ , in Auguste’s opinion, though their father may have disagreed. Watching Laurent, though… Auguste remembers that, back when Laurent was about six years old, and all he wanted was to be exactly like Auguste. 

It had been an adorable time. Laurent had followed him around for about a week, dressed in his own miniature armor and carrying a tiny, tiny sword (blunted, of course), coming to each meeting and practicing alongside Auguste on the training field, before he had decided that it was too much trouble and returned to his books. After that, Auguste had always teased him about it, but Laurent had never really shown any more interest in the more militaristic side of ruling. 

Auguste had missed it, missed those halcyon days just a little bit, before the battle that had ended his life. 

He shakes himself and returns to watching his brother. The warmth of pride in his family feels a little different as a ghost - it starts from the top of his head and reaches down, slowly, spreading out until it almost seems like his fingertips will manifest themselves - but it’s somehow even better than when he was alive. It isn’t certain yet, if death makes him feel emotions more strongly, but he won’t complain. 

Even after his death, Laurent is alive and thriving. How could he be anything  _ but  _ happy? 

And then he glances to the side a little, and sees the Regent. It almost doesn’t register, for a moment, that it’s his uncle, sitting there watching Laurent, one hand stroking the pommel of his sword and a hungry look on his face, but when it does, all of the pride in Auguste’s body turns to rage instead. If he could shoot flames from his eyes, the Regent would be nothing more than a pile of ash, but unfortunately, Auguste has learned that ghosts don’t really have that kind of power. 

Somewhere down the hall, a vase breaks. 

The look on the Regent’s face is, thankfully, a different sort of hunger to the one that he had the year before, the one Auguste remembered wanting to rip off of his face just before he almost dissolved himself. It’s a silver lining, but a tiny one - Auguste would be much happier if the Regent had just fucked off to the wilderness instead of staying in Arles. 

Auguste stops watching and closes his eyes, tamping down his anger until he is calm once more. He goes through the motions of deep breathing once, twice, a third time, until he’s confident that he can look at the Regent without immediately flying into another rage. One more deep breath and he glances at his uncle again, only to see the man beckon someone over. It’s a pet, and a young one at that - a boy of about 11, blond and bright-eyed, decked out in tasteful jewelry and colorful clothing. He comes close to the Regent and, without any further prompting, sits on his lap, wiggling back and forth a few times. 

It’s clear from the look on the boy’s face that he knows exactly what he’s doing, but…  _ does he really?  _ Auguste has to wonder. He knows that most pets, even ones so young, are more mature than most, but does the boy truly understand what the Regent is doing to him? 

Did  _ Laurent  _ understand what the Regent did to him? 

Auguste shudders and resolves to stop thinking about it. The injustice of the boy’s situation eats at him, but - as guilty as it makes him feel - he’s glad it’s not Laurent. 

_ At least it’s not Laurent _ . 

On the training field, Laurent wins his bout against the three men - they’re all lying on their backs in the dirt, and while Laurent is leaning on his sword in their midst and breathing heavily, like he’s just run a mile, he is victorious. Behind him, Jord smiles proudly. 

Auguste’s guilt turns to joy, and even knowing that Laurent can’t hear him, he cheers the loudest of anyone on that field. 

————

After the rest of Laurent’s training is finished for the day, Auguste drifts back down the hallway, only to stumble across the broken vase. He distantly remembers hearing the sound of something shattering while he was staring daggers at the Regent, but there were no footsteps accompanying it. There had been no one in the hallway with him beforehand, so… 

_ Did he do that _ ? 

Auguste crouches by the vase, then lifts a hand up to his face, examining it. He had figured out beforehand that strong emotion could let him interact with the world around him, but he thought that ability had disappeared after he had reformed. 

Perhaps he was still just out of energy? 

Auguste stands up and heads towards his former rooms. He has training of his own. 

——————

YEAR 4

Auguste, when he’s not either following Laurent around or spying on the Regent, spends his time discovering all of his abilities and training. 

Laurent, as a sixteen-year-old, still spends much of his time reading in the library, safe and sound. It’s the one place that Auguste feels confident in leaving him alone, if only because he knows that the librarian, Honore, regards Laurent as her own child and would lay down her life to protect him. 

So while Laurent reads, Auguste spends his time trying to ruffle the pages of his books, pretending to be the wind through the open window. He’ll knock the thinner books around, trying to get the hang of moving objects in the real, mortal world without expending all of his energy, but it’s harder than he originally had thought. He keeps in mind what his mother had told him, when he had first started training - taking things slowly and being able to continue the next day is better than overextending oneself and being out of commission for a week. 

It had been a hard lesson to learn, but eventually, it had sunk in. 

So he takes it slowly - one book at a time, one vase, and if he follows Laurent to dinner, bits of bread and cheese. He spends quite a bit of time in his old rooms - miraculously untouched, no doubt due to Laurent - throwing around his bedding and old papers, then frantically replacing everything as fast as he can in case someone walks in. 

Auguste is pretty sure that all of this training is messing with Laurent, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Not when it’s Laurent’s safety at stake. 

He only finds out just how much it’s messing with Laurent one night when they’re in Laurent’s room, him manipulating dust particles while Laurent reads at his desk, when Laurent speaks aloud. 

“Auguste, I don’t actually know if you’re there.” 

Auguste stops fiddling with the dust motes and starts listening. 

Laurent continues. “Sometimes, I think I’m going crazy. Maybe I just imagined all of it?” He trails off, and Auguste can tell he’s thinking of the one time he actually managed to manifest himself. “But then my pages will move when there was no wind beforehand, and the food on my plate moves around when I blink.” 

Auguste floats closer to Laurent, concerned about the way that his brother is shrinking into himself. 

Laurent curls up in his chair, bringing his knees to his chest. His head is down, and his voice is muffled. “I want you back, brother. I want you  _ here _ , with me, alive. But… I don’t want you to stay here because of me, either.” He pauses, and takes a hiccupping breath. “I don’t want to keep you from seeing Mother and Father again, or whatever it is that people see when they’re dead. I don’t want to force you to stay here with me, when you could have something so much better.” 

Auguste reaches out one hand, wishing with all his might that Laurent could feel him petting his head. “I want to be there with you too,” he says, knowing Laurent can’t hear him. “I wish I was alive, but nothing can change this now. I wouldn’t go anywhere else, even if I could.” 

Laurent sighs and returns to his reading, and Auguste returns to his dust manipulation. He wishes there was more he could do to soothe his brother’s worries, but… 

He’ll save it for when he becomes stronger. Soon, he’ll be able to ease the guilt. 

—————

YEARS 5, 6, AND 7

Laurent’s seventeenth and eighteenth years are calmer than the last few. 

Auguste spent most of his time training, his abilities, now able to move larger objects and more things at one time. Soon enough, Auguste was sure that he would be able to flex his ghostly muscles and be the strongest ghost in the castle. 

Well, he was the  _ only  _ ghost in the castle, but that didn’t make much of a difference, did it? 

Laurent still spent most of his time reading, but a good portion of his time was also occupied by training and meetings. He still didn’t hold much power in Vere, as the Regent was still in power; nonetheless, Auguste could tell that he was doing his best to learn to be a good ruler for Vere. It also helped that the Regent fucked off to Ambassador Guion’s holdings several times a year to visit his old friend and… well, Auguste didn’t know  _ what _ , exactly, but it was certainly suspicious. It stood to reason that Guion was disloyal, but what exactly they were planning, Auguste couldn’t say. 

It was unlikely, but if there was a coup to fully remove Laurent, Auguste would yet again expend all of his energy in Laurent’s defense; it was a promise to himself. 

But regardless of what the Regent was planning, the years went relatively smoothly, and if Auguste had been alive, there was nothing he would have recommended that Laurent do differently. Except for one thing: Laurent never consorts with anyone, has no pets, no friends. 

Auguste knows this - introvertedness - to be one of Laurent’s defining characteristics, but in a court so embroiled with conflict as the court at Arles, it was the one thing that warrants change. Laurent needs friends, he thinks, people that he can count on no matter what the Regent does. The only thing is that - and Auguste acknowledges this very reluctantly - Laurent didn’t grow up with a winning personality. Underneath the hard exterior is the sweet boy who Auguste knew, but if one was not his dead brother, Laurent was a stone-cold bitch, without a care in the world for anyone. 

Auguste can’t blame him. It’s a good survival tactic, if nothing else, but could prove to be disastrous later. Oh, why had no one written a book on how to deal with stubborn little brothers as a ghost? 

And then Auguste starts hearing tales. Gossip, spread around the court, flowing through nobles and pets alike, that Laurent lusted after Auguste as a child. Still wants him, to this day. 

The rumors are, of course, disgustingly untrue, but it’s almost startling to Auguste just how many people believe them. Laurent, on the other hand, doesn’t seem shocked in the least - instead, he stays quiet, does his duty, and bites the heads off whoever gets in his way. It’s almost exactly what Auguste expected from him, but at the same time, he almost wishes that Laurent would react a little, but it’s almost as if Laurent knows that it won’t make any difference. 

And, well. With the Regent’s name and signature all over the rumors, Auguste doesn’t think there  _ would  _ be a difference. The man has so much power in the courts, that Auguste coming back to life and refuting the rumors himself wouldn’t even make so much as a dent in them. 

But, he supposes, everything will be fine. Rumors don’t stick around much, in the court, everyone constantly rushing towards the newest thing. Sooner or later, everyone will stop believing that Laurent wanted to commit incest with Auguste, and it would be fine. 

Still, even months after the rumors first began, they were still traveling through the court, and Laurent’s reputation as the future king was becoming more and more dirty. From the tales he heard from the guards and servants, though, it at least seemed like most of the country didn’t believe in anything coming from the court, the people still believing in his starburst above all else. It’s not smooth sailing, but Auguste will take it - as long as Laurent has  _ someone  _ believing in him, Auguste can’t complain. He knows better than anyone that a country’s people is where the power is - rebellion is only one step away at all times. But an uneasy peace reigns, a strange, silent truce between Laurent and the Regent, and for a moment, it feels as though everything will work out just fine. 

And then it all goes downhill a few months after Laurent turns twenty. 

——————

DAMIANOS 

Auguste is sitting in Laurent’s rooms, reading over his brother’s shoulders, when the summons come. 

“The Regent sends for you, my lord,” the servant says. “There is… a  _ gift _ , from the Akielon king.”

“Oh?” says Laurent, lifting one perfect eyebrow. “Lead the way.” 

The servant takes Laurent - and Auguste - to a room that’s closer to the servants’ quarters than to the rest of the castle. Auguste can’t say he’s been down to this part of the castle often; maybe once or twice, during one of his more ill-advised dalliances, but nothing more than that. As they walk, Auguste’s mind wanders to what the servant had said: a gift from the Akielon king? 

Auguste had found out about the coup that killed Prince Damianos and put King Kastor on the throne at the same time as Laurent. Perhaps it should have come as more of a shock, but with what he had already known of Kastor’s personality, it wasn’t as surprising as it could have been. Damianos, if he recalled correctly, had always been the more honorable of the two, as much as Akielons  _ could  _ be honorable. 

The thought of Akielons, especially the royal family, doesn’t bring him much anger or disgust anymore, and that in itself is surprising to Auguste - if nothing else, he thinks that the thought of the brute who killed him should always be infuriating. But now that the man is dead, Auguste can’t feel much other than pity. What must it be like, to be killed by the family you thought you could trust? 

Auguste thankfully can’t relate, but he knows better than anyone that death is nothing to be brushed off. 

Even beyond all that, it rankles that there is a bastard on the Akielon throne. The very idea is on the abhorrent side to Auguste, but there’s nothing he can do about it, after all. And in any case, Kastor has already shown his true colors - Auguste is convinced that if nothing else, the people will rise up against him soon enough. 

Auguste starts a little when he realizes that they’ve arrived at where the Regent has stored the gifts, whatever that may entail. There are courtiers gathered around outside the room, waiting for Laurent so that they too may enter and gawk at whatever is inside, and as Laurent opens the door, not pausing to take a breath, they flock together and walk in, chattering quietly amongst themselves. 

Floating behind Laurent, it takes a second for Auguste to register what exactly it is that he’s seeing. Behind Ambassador Guion is a person, kneeling on the ground. He is bound and gagged, but it does nothing to hide the tenseness of his position, permeating his muscles. 

A slave, then. 

Auguste glances at him more closely, wondering why exactly the King of Akielos sent Vere a slave who looks more like a soldier, when he sees the scar on his shoulder. Then the man looks up, and it finally sinks in. 

_ Damianos.  _

The man who killed him is alive, and he’s right in front of Auguste. 

Rage surges through him once again. Auguste has gotten more practiced at keeping himself calm, but all of his training goes out the window the moment he sees Damianos. Around him, a wind surges through the open window and ruffles clothing and hair throughout the room; somewhere, a chair is overturned, though the talking muffles the clang. Auguste can feel himself trembling, his legs shaking as he does his best to not surge forward and use all of his ghostly strength to rip Damianos’ head off right then and there. 

It’s only because of Laurent’s calm words that he stays his hand. “An Akielon grovelling on its knees. How fitting,” he says. Auguste has evidently missed Laurent’s introduction while he was in the throes of rage, but it doesn’t matter. How was Damianos  _ here _ ? Alive? All the reports had said he was dead - Auguste had checked while Laurent’s back was turned. 

He forces himself to take deep breaths and calm himself down. It wouldn’t do to dissolve himself once again, and leave Laurent all alone in this snake den with an untrustworthy Akielon. Slowly, he manages to stop his legs from shaking, and he’s able to float in once place once again. He blinks hard, once, twice, and then he’s calm again. As much as he can be, anyway. 

Damianos is still in front of him, only now he’s looking up at Laurent with hate-filled eyes and delivering some sort of witty quip and Auguste hates him just a little bit more with each second that passes. He watches in satisfaction when the handler hits Damianos, then tunes the rest of the conversation out, preoccupied with his thoughts. 

What exactly had happened, the day that Damianos supposedly died? 

Something is going on - something with the Regent’s name all over it, Auguste thinks. As he follows Laurent as he storms out of the room, he makes a solemn promise to himself to find out what, if only to protect his brother from whatever the Regent was scheming this time. 

He wouldn’t harm Laurent again. 

—————

Once he’s far enough away so that none of the courtiers are following him anymore, Laurent slows down, wandering through the hallways in a daze. 

Auguste knows that Laurent recognized Damianos at the same time that he did. Auguste had watched him study the faces of each member of the Akielon royal family, committing them to memory. He knew Damianos to be a great motivating factor in how much Laurent trained in every way, in how he tested his limits and pushed himself further each time. 

Laurent knew Damianos was here. There was no way the Regent  _ didn’t  _ know who “Damen” was. So what exactly was the Regent’s game? What could be gained by assigning Damen as Laurent’s personal slave? 

The thing was that neither of them had gotten a glimpse at Damianos’ personality the way that Auguste had, all those years ago. He had done his research on Damianos, observing him as a general and as a prince. If nothing else, he tried to be honest and honorable. In all honesty, if Auguste had ever put aside his natural hatred of Akielons, he would have liked to sit down and talk with Damianos. 

The two of them were rather alike, he could tell. In another world, perhaps they would have been friends. 

Auguste shakes himself out of the daydream. There’s no use in thinking of what-ifs, he tells himself. Instead, he needs to focus his energy on worrying about Laurent - he’s what’s most important, here. And as Laurent locks himself in the safety of his rooms, sits down on his bed and covers his face in his hands, breathing heavily into his palms, Auguste can’t help but wish that he was alive once more. 

—————

The day passes quickly enough, and the next day when Laurent goes to meet with Damen, Auguste elects not to follow, instead going to shadow Nicaise, the Regent’s latest pet. 

Auguste can’t quite figure out why he likes Nicaise so much. The boy is like all of Laurent’s worst traits put together, but there’s something vaguely endearing about him anyway. He’s like the pet cat their mother once had, the one who would claw at him every time Auguste tried to pet it, but would come try to cuddle five minutes later like nothing had ever been wrong - and then would promptly suffocate Auguste in his sleep. Added to this is the fact that he’s yet another boy the Regent has hurt, and Auguste can’t help but be sympathetic. 

He can feel the whisper of a thought coming into his mind, of what exactly he would do if he was still alive, and brushes it aside. He’s been dead for far too long for him to start wishing that he was alive again. 

It helps Auguste that Nicaise doesn’t spend all of his time with the Regent - Auguste figures he’s too busy stealing the throne to spend much time with his pets. Instead, Nicaise spends his days terrorizing the other denizens of the castle, doing lessons, and wandering. It’s the life that Auguste had always wished for when he had been younger and perhaps more naive. 

Once he’d started taking over more and more of his father’s duties, Auguste had come to the realization that in the Veretian court, it never paid to stay complacent and ignorant. Or make enemies in the court. 

So while Nicaise is certainly a breath of fresh air, Auguste can’t help but worry about his future. 

Today seemed to be the wrong day to follow Nicaise around, however. He floats behind the boy as he walks with Councillor Audin towards the pet arena. This was the one area in the castle that had always been rather distasteful, to Auguste - watching pets rape each other at the command of their masters was not something he particularly enjoyed, always having preferred his partners to be…willing. 

Even if they were partners he wasn’t supposed to have, at least they wanted to be there, with him. 

Getting to the arena and seeing Laurent and Damen also there, the tension between them obvious to anyone who wasn’t completely oblivious, was not something Auguste had expected to deal with today. He feels his lips curling back in disgust as he ignores the court to watch the two pets in the ring, then his eyes widen when he sees Laurent send Damianos down into the ring. 

Did Laurent go insane when he wasn’t looking…? 

Auguste floats over to his brother and peers at him closely, trying to figure out what he could possibly be thinking. He must have something to prove, but… 

He glances between Laurent and Damianos a few times, before finally watching Damianos knock out his opponent in the ring, refusing to touch him beyond that. It’s interesting - Auguste had known that Damianos was honorable, but he hadn’t been sure how far that would go, especially in the arena. It was nice to know that some things didn’t change. 

Glancing back at the spectators scattered around, Auguste sees that most of them are gasping in shock. It makes him roll his eyes a little - sometimes, it hits him that the people of the court are so sheltered that he can’t stand it. 

He floats closer to Nicaise once more and wishes he could at least set a steadying hand on his shoulder, or  _ something _ . The boy is trembling a little, though he’s trying hard not to show it, and he makes his bravado known when he speaks to Laurent and Damianos. It’s almost adorable, how grown-up he’s trying to be, but when Auguste is reminded of the circumstances behind it, the anger deep within him lights up again. 

This bravado should be just for show, not because Nicaise is being forced to be an adult at such a young age. 

Nothing in the court sits right with him anymore. But with the arrival of Damianos, Auguste can feel the change starting already. If they are good changes, though… well, that remains to be seen. 

—————————

After that, the days pass…not exactly peacefully, but Auguste can’t really affect anything going on in front of him anyway, so he supposes that it doesn’t really matter. He goes back to his normal routine of alternating between following Laurent and Nicaise around, taking the occasional break to peek in on Damianos, who is having a thoroughly awful time as Laurent’s slave. 

Auguste had skipped over looking in on them in the baths, not even wanting to think about his brother and his killer in that way, so finding his brother having Damianos whipped to the bone was a bit of a shock. He sits down beside Damianos and sees just how much of a stoic face he’s trying to put on, and can’t help it when sympathy rushes through him like a wave. 

Then he lifts his face towards the sky and says a quick prayer for his brother’s sense of self-preservation, because he’s not entirely sure what Laurent is trying to do, but he’s about 99% positive that it will end in his death. 

Auguste sees Laurent glance away from Damianos for a moment, a searching look on his face. He glances around the area they’re all standing in, almost longing for something. 

It takes a moment to sink in that Laurent is looking for  _ him _ . 

When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, Laurent looks back to Damianos, taunting him, letting him leave the cross for a moment only to have him whipped again, on what seemed like a whim. Deep within himself, though he refuses to acknowledge it, Auguste wishes he was still alive, if only so that he could prevent Laurent from becoming this hard, cold stranger. 

But life in the castle continues, no matter the events occurring within its walls, and all one can do, Auguste thinks, is carry on. 

So he does what he always does and keeps a close eye on Laurent. He watches as the Regent asks Damianos to spy on Laurent, as the Regent seizes more and more of Laurent’s birthright, knowing that he can’t do anything about it even though it’s completely infuriating. He watches Laurent and Damianos in the gardens, and when Laurent offers to buy Nicaise, the cold stranger transforms into the little brother he once knew, who always put others above himself, no matter what. 

It gives Auguste a bit of hope, that the court - that the Regent - hasn’t erased Laurent’s essence. 

And life goes on. Between banquets with the Patrans and the death of Laurent’s horse, the Regent’s assassination attempt and Laurent’s assignment to border duty, Auguste is busy running around, ready to smash vases into heads, helping Laurent as much as he possibly can. He’s never quite been sure if he can leave the castle - he knows he’s tied to Laurent somehow, but whether that extends to leaving the castle is something he’s never been able to test. Part of Auguste hopes that he’s anchored to the castle somehow, since he doesn’t know how his powers or anything work outside of the walls. It’s been so  _ long _ since he’s left, he almost can’t believe that it’s happening now. 

But in any case, he can’t stay away for too long. As much as he needs to look after Laurent, now he also has to keep an eye on Nicaise. And though Auguste has never felt more powerless in his life, he promises himself this: that no one will ever harm the people he cares about again. 

It’s something that he  _ knows  _ he would give up his afterlife for. 

—————————

ON THE ROAD AGAIN 

Auguste can’t quite believe it, but he’s bored out of his mind. 

There was a time in his life when traveling was the most exciting thing he could possibly do. Riding his horse, seeing new sights, with nothing but the wind in his hair was freeing in a way that he couldn’t say that most things in his life were. Even when he led the campaign against Akielos, whenever he felt overwhelmed by his duties, all it took was a little riding and exploring to get his spirits up once more. 

So why was everything so bland now? 

Perhaps it was that he was too focused on Laurent’s situation. Maybe it was that he had little patience for the politics of Laurent’s company and the obvious plants they were stuck with, including the so-called ‘captain’, Govart. 

Auguste held back a huff. In his day, he wouldn’t have even let such a man within ten feet of him, let alone into his army. 

Of all of this, the only thing that could perhaps be considered good is the fact that Laurent’s put aside his antipathy towards Damianos for the moment, if only to survive the next few months on the border. Auguste can’t say he’s entirely  _ pleased  _ with Laurent being so close to Damianos, of all people, for such an extended period of time, but he supposes that it could be worse. He could be stuck with the bastard son, after all. 

Laurent’s duel with Govart is perhaps the one bright spot after what feels like ages on the road. Auguste stands at the edge of the ring, cheering him on as loudly as possible, wishing that Laurent could hear him, could hear just how proud he is. No matter what his brother does, no matter how cold he is or how distant he seems, Auguste thinks, he will always be proud of Laurent. There is nothing that could take that away. 

And even beyond beating up someone who absolutely deserved it, finally, Laurent was starting to prove himself to his men. Auguste kind of understands - here they are, forced to follow a prince who by all rights is nothing if not capricious - and he  _ is _ , but now they can see that he is so much more, as well. It’s gratifying, to have others finally see the view of Laurent that he knows has always been there, hidden beneath the veneer of uncaring cruelty he puts on in the court. 

When they start training again, the boredom returns, almost as if it had never left in the first place. Perhaps there was simply no joy in being around working men, when one was unable to also share in the work. 

Auguste sighs in annoyance. There were plenty of worse things, he supposes, but being dead really just sucks. 

—————————

Auguste isn’t sure if he should follow Laurent and Damianos on their excursion to the town, but decides in the end that it’s probably for the best that he does. The men following behind the two of them is something to be expected, but what he doesn’t quite see coming is Laurent ducking into a few alleys, going down a side road, and turning a corner - only to walk into the nearest brothel. 

Oh, this should be good. 

It’s not anywhere  _ near  _ Auguste’s first time in a brothel, and he has to assume it’s not Damianos’ first time, either. But Laurent has never even set foot near one, before, and so the expression Auguste can just barely read behind his eyes - disgust, horror, and vague curiosity - is hilarious. Auguste hasn’t laughed so hard in a long time. 

Once they’re inside, Auguste can’t stop himself from looking around hungrily. It’s unbecoming, he knows, but it’s been so long since he’s had any sort of contact, let alone the pleasurable, illicit kind. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, holding it for a moment before breathing out. Repeating this process a few times, he forces himself to focus - he has one objective and one objective  _ only _ , and it’s to protect Laurent. 

He’s practically clinging to Laurent’s neck the whole time, ready to… do  _ something _ at a moment’s notice. It’s a shame that there aren’t many small objects to be tossed around here - if Laurent’s pursuers enter, he can make do with the couches or tables, but he would rather not expend that much energy if he can save it for something perhaps more important. Like absolutely wrecking the Regent, in a way that won’t implicate Laurent, of course. 

Once Laurent is crowned, the Regent is free game, and Auguste won’t hold back. 

He follows even more closely as Laurent and Damianos make their way to a private room, then watches in pure amusement as Damianos pulls the grille off of a window and Laurent stares in shock. It’s not often he gets to see Laurent go speechless like that, but even though he might not like the person causing him to be like that, Auguste can’t find it within himself to be too angry about it. Laurent needs someone to keep him on his toes, in his humble opinion, and to Auguste’s surprise, Damianos is proving himself to be more than just a brute. 

As they make their way to the inn across town, switching roles at the doors, Auguste’s caution rises. It’s one thing that they’ve managed to lose their pursuers, but this is a prime opportunity for Damianos to escape. Or murder Laurent. Or do any manner of other horrible things. Not that Auguste particularly thinks that he  _ would _ \- he still has faith in the honor that Damianos purportedly has - but it’s always better to be wary, he thinks. Damianos is practically a predator on his own, and Auguste trusts no one. 

Surprisingly enough, the worst thing that happens is having to watch Laurent pretend to be a pet. It’s an uncomfortable reminder of the time when he was still under the Regent’s thumb, unable to take care of himself. Auguste is only a little startled at the amount of trust that Laurent is suddenly putting in Damianos, but it’s not completely strange to watch the two of them bond. He’s always thought that if things had been different, perhaps they would have been friends. 

In another life, in another world. 

When he hears Laurent say this about him, that he “had no instinct for deception; it meant he couldn’t recognize it in other people,” he can’t hold back the bitter laugh that wells up. 

_ Maybe I’ve learned, little brother. Maybe I’ve learned.  _

———————

He watches as Laurent quells the uprising within his men, then decides that it might be time for him to return to the palace. It only takes one tug on the strings he can now anchoring him there, and he’s on his way. 

————————

Auguste enters to find Nicaise panicking, pacing back and forth in his rooms, his breathing fast and his hands tightly clutching his hair. 

It’s an unusual sight. Auguste has never known Nicaise to panic about anything. He’s not the calmest person in the castle but he’s certainly almost always sure of himself, in whatever he does. His station has given him that much security, at least - it’s the one thing the court has maybe done right. 

He floats a little closer, trying to focus on what Nicaise is muttering about so frantically. There’s a letter that he has, an important one. Stolen from the Regent’s rooms - and the Regent is willing to kill to get it back. From this close, Auguste can see that he’s been biting his lips to the point of them bleeding, and his nails are short and choppy, like they’ve been gnawed on. It’s clear that the matter of this letter has been taking a toll on Nicaise, and Auguste has to wonder what exactly has been happening in the castle since he left with Laurent. 

So Auguste does what he can. Imagining one nail to be sharper than the rest, he steps closer to the mirror across from Nicaise and draws a line down one arm, splitting the skin and letting blood well up. Dipping his fingers in it, he carefully writes on the mirror, instructions, plans, and gentle platitudes assuring Nicaise that everything’s going to be okay. 

He turns around just in time to hear the thump of Nicaise’s unconscious body hitting the ground. 

————————

In retrospect, perhaps that wasn’t the best way of introducing himself to his little brother’s pseudo-brother. 

Auguste comes to the realization that he’s forgotten how shocking seeing writing appear on a mirror can be to someone who’s alive very quickly after seeing Nicaise faint. It’s all he can do to brush it off before Nicaise wakes up, thankful for once that no one can see him so at least they won’t be able to see the embarrassment shining on his face. It’s a testament to how long he’s been dead, that he can just forget about these things, now. 

In any case, the instructions he’s given Nicaise should be enough to get him to start preparing to escape the castle, or so he hopes. He knows from following Laurent around that the castle hasn’t changed that much from when he went through and explored the whole thing - all the secret passages are still in place, and as far as he knows, are mostly still unknown to the Regent. It’s what he’s counting on, anyway, because he can tell from the man’s stormy countenance as he searches through the castle that he’s gearing up for an execution. 

The Regent waits exactly one week, then makes his move. 

It’s a good thing that Nicaise has been quite proactive in his preparations for escape, plotting out his route to head directly to where Laurent is. It will be a long, hard journey, but Auguste is with him, guiding him every step of the way. It might actually be okay, he thinks at the end of the fifth day, watching Nicaise stuff a small pack full of food, money, and clothes underneath his bed. Pure luck has made it so that Nicaise has one of the rooms with a direct entrance to a secret passage in it - it leads straight down to the wall nearest to the stables, where Nicaise will have a horse ready to go at any time of the day. 

They have as good a plan as any, but playing the waiting game is the worst part. 

Finally, the day comes, one week after Auguste returns to the castle. Of course, the Regent being the Regent, he can’t play fair at all, so the attack comes at night, when Nicaise is fast asleep, Auguste watching over him. He has only a split second of warning - whoever the assassin is, they’re quite good at sneaking around - but manages cause enough objects to rattle and shake around the room to wake Nicaise up, just as the assassin is pulling out their knife above him. 

Hearing the noises, they strike, stabbing down. Nicaise barely manages to roll out of the way once before the assassin strikes again, sending him rolling straight off his bed and towards his pack to make a run for it. Auguste tries once, to push the assassin out of the way before they can lunge at Nicaise scrabbling for the exit, when instead of hitting solid flesh his hands go  _ through  _ the assassin, and suddenly he’s falling forwards and stumbling around, feeling the cool night air on his skin and breathing in deeply. 

Somewhere within, he can feel his heart beat, the blood rushing through his veins. 

Deciding to temporarily ignore the fact that he can apparently now possess people, Auguste yells, “Run, Nicaise!” He’s rewarded with the sight of Nicaise’s retreating back, heading straight down the secret passageway towards the stables, where the horse that Auguste readied earlier that day after reeling from an intense gut feeling is waiting. Still in the assassin’s body, he walks towards the window and stands on the sill, before letting himself fall forwards, leaving the body on the way down. 

It’s strange, he thinks. When he was alive, he would never have even  _ considered  _ doing such a thing, but now that he’s dead, he has no such qualms. 

Would Laurent be proud, or horrified at what he’s become? 

Shaking off the doubts, he catches up to where Nicaise is riding away, finally free. Auguste feels as though he’s just won a battle, but he can’t bask in the glory with the knowledge that the war isn’t over yet. 

———————

THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL 

Time seems to fly by once Damianos announces who he really is. 

The passage of time changes once one dies, Auguste has found. Every day is rather monotonous, even more so than when he was alive, and they blend into each other like the paint from his old family portrait. His days are  _ boring _ , since he cannot eat, sleep, or even speak to anyone, and it has been this way for so long that he’s starting to forget that he had ever known anything different. 

Auguste is distantly aware of the fact that Damianos has revealed himself to both Nikandros of Delpha and all of his men, and for a moment he wonders how they took that, but stops paying attention to that the moment he sees Laurent, knocked out and tied up, being carried to the prison cells in Fortaine. He follows the soldiers down and watches them tie his brother up more securely, then sits down next to Laurent and starts hatching a plan to get him out. Stealth is much easier now that he’s dead, but that advantage won’t be extended to Laurent for a very long time, he hopes, even though it makes his job now just a little harder. 

And then Govart walks in, and Laurent wakes up, and Auguste thinks to himself,  _ this day could not possibly get any worse _ . 

When Govart starts talking, threatening Laurent, it only takes about a minute for Auguste to decide that he’s completely done.  _ Fuck this _ , he thinks, and very promptly floats  _ into  _ Govart and takes over, focusing on the feeling of having a body that is completely his. Somewhere deep inside, he can feel Govart’s essence protesting, trying to come out and take control of his body again. He kicks it into submission. 

This newfound power of his isn’t something he likes to use often; in fact, the less he uses it, the better. There’s something about it that feels cursed, like if he possesses someone for too long, he’ll lose sight of what it means to be Auguste, dead prince of Vere, and he isn’t willing to risk that. He’s survived this long - he’s not going to ruin all of his work to build up his power by trying to get a new body. Even beyond that, if he’s in a body for too long, it starts decaying while the host is still technically alive, and that’s a fate too horrible for Auguste to contemplate, let alone put into practice. 

(Except maybe on the Regent. In hindsight, perhaps he should have tried to possess the Regent from the beginning.) 

Using it for the ten minutes it takes to straighten up, ignore Laurent’s look of pure confusion, and drag Guion back to the cells by the scruff of his neck, on the other hand, is absolutely worth any misgivings he has about it. 

Auguste tosses Guion into the cell next to Laurent’s, locking the door, then goes and starts cutting off Laurent’s bindings, absentmindedly  _ hmmm _ -ing every time Guion pauses from his tirade about Laurent being a dirty traitor to the crown to take a breath. Finally, when Auguste grows tired of it, he fires back a, “Say, Guion, do you recall what Father did to the assassin he found attempting to murder Mother? That’s what I’m going to do to you if you don’t  _ shut the fuck up _ ,” and finally the man goes silent, except for one small  _ eep  _ as he tries to turn himself into a rock in one corner of the cell. 

Auguste turns back to Laurent, who is staring at him with a great and terrible hope rising in his eyes. It’s almost the same expression he had the day Auguste forced the Regent away from him, and just looking at him causes Auguste to soften. 

Stepping forward, he cups Laurent’s cheek with one hand. “Little brother, I’m so proud of you,” he says, feeling warmer than he has in a long time. I can’t stay in this body for long  (though I’m definitely getting rid of it before I go) , but just know I’ve been watching.” 

In front of him, Laurent is doing quite the lovely impression of a fish. 

He can feel Govart’s knees dissolving away as his body continues its rapid deterioration. There’s only time for one more message, and he intends to use it well. 

“Remember, Laurent, I am always with you,” he says, ruffling Laurent’s hair and shooting him his signature grin. Auguste can tell that it doesn’t quite look right on Govart’s face, but he supposes that it doesn’t matter, as long as his message gets through. 

With that, he goes over to where Govart dropped his sword when Auguste first possessed him and stabs himself a few times, in case the decay isn’t happening quickly enough, and exits the body, snorting as it immediately slumps over, dead. 

Serves Govart right, that asshole. 

Laurent is a little teary-eyed, but after a moment of staring absently and open-mouthed at Govart’s body, he pulls himself together, seemingly ready to move forward. Auguste doesn’t bother stifling his proud smile as Laurent gets himself up and keeps going . 

—————

Damianos’ reveal comes without much fanfare. 

He strides in confidently, then wilts a little when Laurent very promptly steals his thunder. Auguste is only a little sympathetic; Laurent’s done the same thing to him when he’s come to announce news many times. It might be a younger sibling thing, he thinks. Or maybe it’s just Laurent. 

In any case, Auguste can’t help but pity Damianos. He was probably expecting a warmer reception, especially considering what happened between him and Laurent not too long ago (and wasn’t  _ that  _ something Auguste didn’t want to think about at all), but surprisingly enough, he doesn’t look all to shocked. Some part of him, deep down, probably knew from the start that his identity wasn’t nearly as hidden as he thought it was. 

Or maybe he’s just overestimating Damianos’ intelligence. Whatever, it isn’t his problem anyway. 

Later, he follows Damianos to the command tents, where he meets with Nikandros. Laurent needs some time alone, without even his ghostly presence, so he takes a moment to check on his former enemies instead. As concerned as he is with what Damianos is saying, he almost misses the strange look Nikandros shoots in his direction. But there’s no way that it was at him - no one can see him, after all. 

He ignores the nervous flutter in his stomach. 

———————

Auguste tends to leave Laurent and Damianos alone, from that point on, preferring to follow Nicaise, or more and more, Nikandros. 

The irony is enough to kill him a second time, sometimes. Leaving his brother alone with his killer is the last thing he ever expected that he would do, and yet here he is, doing exactly that. But over the last few months, he’s become convinced that the last thing Damianos wants to do is hurt Laurent. That he would, if allowed, take care of Laurent. 

Nicaise, meanwhile, flits around camps and political appearances like a wayward fairy. Auguste gets the feeling that he’s rather bored, but has no idea what to do about it - and he can’t blame him, because for a boy his age, all of this  _ is  _ boring. Nicaise is much too young to be out here, constantly next to the battlefield, much like Laurent was too young to be on the campaign all those years ago. Nicaise seems to have taken a shine to Jord, however, and vice versa; for all that they didn’t like each other in the palace, their new friendship seems to have stemmed from a mutual need to do  _ something _ . It’s not something he would have seen coming at all, but he’s glad that if nothing else, the two of them can at least go to each other. 

Nikandros, on the other hand, is more interesting than he would have thought. He tends to spend his days either with his troops or by Damianos’ side, a loyal friend until the end. He’s steadfast and loyal, with a good head on his shoulders. Auguste can see exactly why Damianos values him so much. 

Sometimes, he’ll have odd expressions on his face, especially when he happens to glance into the corners where Auguste tends to float around in. He thought it was probably just a coincidence at first, that maybe there was a spider or something that he hadn’t noticed when he entered the corner. It was no big deal. 

And yet, the glances continue. 

Auguste decides to ignore it, until one day when Nikandros storms into his office, furiously muttering to himself about Laurent, and how Damianos is a fool for falling for a pretty face,  _ again _ , and how it will lead to their ruin. Auguste doesn’t bother stifling a snort when he says, “You know, he’s never going to like you if you keep comparing him to Jokaste.” 

“Shut up,” Nikandros says, tone snappy. It takes a moment to register what he’s said, but when it does, he freezes. 

“What,” Auguste says eloquently, “the  _ fuck _ ?” 

————————

Being seen as himself for the first time in years is terrifying, but liberating at the same time. 

When he finally manages to convince Nikandros that he’s not going insane, that Auguste is  _ real  _ and not a hallucination telling him that the stress of being Kyros is finally getting to him, Auguste doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel. On one hand, someone finally sees him, no possession or other weird ghost tricks involved. On the other, that person is someone who would have solidly been his enemy in the past. 

But as the evening goes on, Auguste can’t find it within himself to be too stressed about it. Death - and the last few months - has given him a different perspective on Akielons, and he’s finding that the prospect of company is too good to pass up because of the silly prejudices that he had when he was alive. Nikandros also seems to get over his bias relatively quickly, but perhaps it’s because Auguste came off a little too desperate for someone to talk to in their first conversation. 

And oh, do they talk. 

On the road, Auguste babbles about all of the new sights he’s been seeing - Akielos is foreign territory, after all. Drinking alone one night, Nikandros tells Auguste all about his childhood in Akielos, growing up with Damianos. Another night, they exchange stories about the war - about Delpha. On a different night, they tell each other the myths and legends of their homelands, and whatever else they might have heard; Laurent gets smashingly drunk with Makedon and Auguste tells Nikandros about his time as a ghost, leaving very few pieces out. 

As they get closer and closer to the final confrontation, Auguste can safely say that he counts Nikandros as a close friend, at the very least - and he knows that those feelings are reciprocated. With the utter bullshit that’s been happening around them, Jokaste’s baby being the most recent in a string of ridiculous events, he thinks it’s nice that each of them has somewhere to go for a little  _ normalcy _ . It also helps that the more he spends time with Nikandros, the less he wants to go and end the war himself by simply possessing first the Regent, then Kastor, and simply causing their deaths. It’s a tempting thought, but every time he considers it, Nikandros reminds him that it would delegitimize Laurent’s claim to the throne, never mind Damianos’ claim. 

It’s a good thing that he has Nikandros around to keep him from doing something stupid. It feels good, being seen. 

————————

IN THE END

The end comes and goes, and somehow, they make it out alright. Auguste can already tell that big changes are coming to both Akielos and Vere, but that’s probably for the best. It doesn’t really matter that much to him, though, anymore. 

He’s just glad that the Regent is gone and Laurent is finally free from his presence. Free to do what he wants, free to be with Damianos. Auguste is a little melancholic when he realizes that this means Laurent is all grown up - that he doesn’t need Auguste anymore. 

After the night where he revealed himself in Govart’s body, Laurent hasn’t tried to seek him out, instead focusing on his duties and on the Regent’s endgame. And now, he’s been focused on helping Damianos heal and taking care of him, much like a doting husband. 

Auguste thinks that’s exactly what Laurent will become, sometime soon. 

He’s never heard of two kings uniting their opposing countries through marriage before, but he knows that if anyone can make it happen, it’s Laurent. It perhaps helps that Damianos has proved himself to be just as attentive to Laurent as Laurent is to him, and just as in love. Laurent is in good hands, Auguste has to admit. He wouldn’t hate to have Damianos as a brother-in-law. 

Perhaps, in another life, they could have been friends. 

Auguste refuses to dwell on it, and instead goes to see Nikandros. It’s Laurent’s last night in Akielos for the moment - he’s heading back to Vere in the morning, to deal with the remains of his court, and Auguste plans on following him. He has a feeling that he is not long for this world - no one really needs him, now, and there’s been a strange tug in the pit of his stomach for about the last week or so - and so he wants to maximize his time with Laurent. 

Visiting Nikandros is the only thing he wants to do outside of that. 

So he floats down to Nikandros’ quarters in the dead of night, when he’s sure that they won’t be disturbed, to say his goodbyes and wish him well. To say that Nikandros is surprised would be an understatement - his eyes are wide and he hangs on to the table as he questions Auguste as to why exactly this is his last visit. 

“Just… a feeling, I think,” Auguste says, studying the floor. He’s strangely hesitant, in a way that he definitely wasn’t before this meeting. “Instinct, maybe. I just know I’m going to be gone soon, and I wanted to come see you before that.” 

When he glances up, Nikandros has his jaw clenched tightly, and if he grips the table any tighter, Auguste thinks it might just break. Nikandros takes one deep breath, then another, before he speaks again. 

“I understand,” he says. His voice is tight, and he waits a beat before speaking again. “I hope we see each other again, someday.” 

Auguste smiles, unwilling to dwell on the way something in his chest tightens at that. Nikandros is his first true friend, and it’s pure bad luck that they’ve only become close now. For a moment, he remembers constantly putting on a mask - with the soldiers, the mask of a commander, with other nobles, the mask of a prince. 

With Laurent, the mask of a parent. 

With Nikandros, there is no mask. It’s a gift beyond all measure, and even though it’s been for such a short time, Auguste is suddenly fiercely glad to have known Nikandros. 

He steps towards the balcony, before pausing and looking back. 

“Goodbye, Nikandros. Remember me fondly, please?”

He’s gone before Nikandros can answer him. 

————————

The day he reaches the castle, Laurent doesn’t bother going to his rooms, instead going straight to the gardens, where Auguste’s statue sits above his grave. Auguste himself has only been there once or twice; he remembers laughing himself sick when he first discovered it. The statue isn’t something he would have chosen for himself - it’s a little too large and gaudy for his tastes - but it’s become something of a safe haven for Laurent over the years, and it’s the one place in the palace that the Regent never dared venture. 

Laurent stops in front of it and stares up at Auguste’s stony head. The expression on his face is unreadable, and Auguste, floating a few feet behind him, feels a twinge of confusion go through him. 

This doesn’t seem like Laurent’s usual grave visits. 

Minutes go by in silence. Auguste feels his patience beginning to wane, when Laurent finally speaks. 

“I never wanted you to stay for me, you know,” he says, still looking up. “I never wanted to hold you back from something better, if there  _ is  _ something better after death.” 

Concerned, Auguste steps closer. 

Laurent continues speaking before he can do anything. “But at the same time, I was  _ so  _ happy when I realized you were still here. When I realized you hadn’t left me, that I wasn’t alone. I just wish you hadn’t felt the need to stay. If I’d been stronger, so you didn’t have to protect me from  _ him _ …” 

Auguste steps forward and slings one intangible arm around Laurent’s shoulders, pulling him into a one-armed hug. The call to his soul in the pit of his stomach has never been stronger, and he can’t think of something more worthy to spend the last of his energy on. 

Making himself tangible for the first time in so long, Auguste feels the true weight of his arm settle around Laurent, his feet firm on the ground. There’s a novelty there that wasn’t present when he was still alive, and he sucks in a deep breath before he speaks as Laurent freezes in shock. 

“Well, I never regretted staying,” he says. “You might think that there were better prospects that you were keeping me from, but the truth is that even  _ I  _ don’t know that. So don’t go regretting something that was  _ my  _ choice, because I wouldn’t change it at all.” 

The tugging on his soul gets just the slightest bit stronger. 

Beside him, Laurent relaxes into his hold. It’s nice, holding his brother like this - he never thought he’d be able to, after he died, but he supposes that miracles do happen. 

Laurent turns and presses his face into Auguste’s neck like he used to when he was little, when he would fall asleep in Auguste’s rooms and he would have to carry Laurent to bed and tuck him in. Laurent never woke up, back then - he would only snuffle a little and squirm around in Auguste’s hold, trying to get comfortable. Back then, he was so small, Auguste could lift him with one arm, and though he’s a man now, it’s comforting to see that his habits haven’t changed. 

“Do you know, when you were born, Mother gave you to me to hold even before she presented you to Father,” Auguste says suddenly. Laurent nods; it’s something their mother used to tell him often, before she died. “You were asleep, but when I touched your hand, you grabbed my finger and wouldn’t let go for anything. I didn’t know what to do, but Mother laughed at me and said, ‘Look, he’s so attached to you already.’” 

Laurent brings his head up to face Auguste fully. 

“That was when I knew I would always protect you,” Auguste says. “From  _ anything _ .” Auguste turns and puts his hands on Laurent’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “I mean it, Laurent. If it meant protecting you, I would give up my life, and my afterlife, and anything else I might have after that, and I would do it without a single regret. You’ve been my entire world since the day you were born, I hope you know that.” 

Laurent brings up his hands to dab at his eyes, and Auguste realizes that this is the first time he’s seen Laurent cry since he died. 

“I don’t know how I’ll manage without you,” Laurent says. His voice is steady even as he recognizes this for what it is - a goodbye. 

“You’ll be fine,” Auguste says. “You have so many people behind you, now. Your guards, the court. Damianos.” At Laurent’s stricken expression, he huffs a laugh and says, “Don’t worry, I approve. I don’t think I would choose anyone different for you, actually.” 

Laurent’s face doesn’t become any calmer, and it’s then that Auguste realizes that slowly, without even noticing it, he’s been melting away. The tugging on his soul is so strong, he can’t hold back from it anymore. His form is dissolving, and he knows he only has a minute left at maximum. 

He draws Laurent in for one last hug, then pulls back and says, “You’re going to do great things, Laurent, I just know it.” Auguste grins widely one last time. “Have a little faith in yourself, little brother. Remember, I’m proud of you, no matter what.” 

With that, his body finally dissolves fully, leaving Laurent standing alone in this quiet corner of the garden, in front of his grave. Auguste’s soul rises, buoyant, dancing and twirling among the moon and stars, before he fades away. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://mykingdom-forahorse.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/redmoonjelly)


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